Blueberry Three: A Lament by Scott Summers
by killyourdarlings
Summary: Scott Summers writes about his boots from a place where everything in his live has changed.


_Blueberry Three: A Lament by Scott Summers_

My boots are all I can think of. Funny, now, after a long life filled with memories, all I can think of are my boots. They weren't even _nice_ boots. I'd gotten them years ago during college while preparing to go on a camping trip with friends.

It's easier to see parallels or groupings once you've passes on. My whole life is here where I can watch it over again, frame by frame. It's dark and empty in this place, but my memories remain. You'd think I'd look back at big moments in my life: being rescued by the professor, graduating from college, hearing Jean tell me she loves me for the first time. They're all things I should be thinking about right now. But no...all I can think about are my damn boots. Odd, isn't it?

Those hiking boots were a light brown color, but endless exposure to mud and rain had darkened them considerably. The laces had frayed at a million different places and the tongues fell at comfortable angles. They were worn-in and well loved. The leather was cut and battered, figuratively bleeding from every pore. I've re-glued the soles on a thousand times but I can still see places where they were tearing away.

I loved my boots. I still do, even though I'll never see them again.

Why do I love a ratty pair of shoes so much, anyway? I really have no idea. I never took them on any important missions and, after awhile, I couldn't even take them hiking or camping anymore, they'd gotten so bad. I only wore them when I needed them -- when I had an odd job to do around the mansion and blindly grabbed the first pair of shoes I could find. They were always there waiting for me. I never had to worry about them. The professor asked me to get rid of them only once. My refusal was the only time I have ever really defied him.

All over a pair of boots I ended up dying in.

That's the only piece of my life I haven't looked over, you know. The day of my death. It's not the physical dying that frightens me so much. The car that hit me was going to fast that I died on impact. Funny, isn't it? The leader of the X-Men dies in a hit-and-run...by another mutant, no less! Two of them, actually, in the same car. It's almost laughable. At least, it would be if I didn't know who was in that car. I really wish I didn't. It would make facing all of this so much easier.

It still burns like fire within me (whatever _me_ is now), even when I'm not thinking about it. It's an ever-present ball of emotion coiled up inside my gut, waiting for a chance to pounce on my brain and fill me with hate.

--_I really do respect you, what you do here. It's the right thing to do for all these kids._

_--You could be apart of it. In some ways, you already are. The kids already welcome you here, and we, as a faculty and a team, would be glad to have you._

_--I dunno, Scooter. I've never been too good at doing the right thing. _

_--You don't have to be. None of us here are. We just try, everyday. It's all anyone can do, without making themselves crazy, that is. Whether you like it or not, you're apart of this family now. We won't let you go so easily._

_--Somehow, I don't really mind._

I do hate him now. I can't help it. I wanted him to be apart of the family: school and team. He was a great ally and had the potential to be a great teacher. I trusted him and asked him to be apart of something greater than himself, greater than all of us, as the sun rose to midmorning in the sky that day. By lunch, I didn't see any changes in their actions. By dinner, I knew the truth. By nightfall and star shine, I was dead. Perhaps, if I looked back far enough, I could find the subtle cues I'd missed. The bat of an eyelash, the touch of a hand. But why torture myself?

Just facing this is torture enough.

She had been standing in the dining room, trying to get into her seat at the table in the dining room filled with students, as usual. It was her job (since she couldn't make macaroni and cheese of the blue-box variety without effort) to herd the children to their seats. I had been setting out plates with Bobby behind me laying out silverware. With all the students in attendance, the large room was convoluted with sound. But, over the din, I heard one clear thought arc through my mind like a fork clinking on a crystal wineglass:

_'Tonight I'll give in. All the way. I can't hold this back any longer.'_

I tried to hide a small grin. I'm not telepathic, but I share a link with Jean that occasionally lets me hear her more loudly broadcasted thoughts. Luckily for us, no one else could. This past month had been difficult for us both: being busy at the school and her at the lab. We hadn't seen each other much at all lately, except at night. But by then we were both so tired we couldn't see straight and flopped bonelessly into bed. We both had decided that enough was enough--we deserved some time alone together this week and I had planned an elaborate after-dinner party for two up in our room. There was a cake chilling in the locked fridge in the garage, along with a bottle of an expensive red wine called Vampire. I was ready to give in, and apparently she was too.

My secretive smile threatened to crack my calm exterior as I took the seat at the head of the table. Xavier was out of town on a business trip, leaving me in his place, instead of my seat further down with Jean. Hank took my place tonight and Ororo stayed by herself with the few younger children that attended the school. Bobby sat at my left, but the right seat was empty. Dinner was already being passed around when Logan walked in. There were other places at the large table but he came and stood (after an infinitesimal amount of hesitation) at my right hand.

"Hey, Scooter. You mind if I sit here?" His hands remained poised at the top of the chair, as if expecting a refusal.

"Not a bit," I replied, giving him a genuine smile. He returned one of his own back at me before taking his seat. It must have been quite a sight for the children to see us getting along together. Archrivals becoming somewhat friends. At least it eased the tension between us. I could live with that. I could _more_ than live with that.

It seemed as if some shimmery substance, making everything I saw glow and glitter faintly, had covered my ruby-quartz glasses. I looked down at Jean, hoping to catch a smile from her at this white flag amendment. But she was looking down at her plate, shifting her food from side to side. Even so, during that meal, I was happier than I had been in a long while just listening to Logan and Bobby laugh before me. The pressures of the anti-mutant world were gone; here, now, we were just a family, full of love and hope.

I only wish it hadn't ended so soon.

Dinner was finished and dessert (a large, delicious blueberry cobbler--I could recognize that smell from a mile away) began making the rounds. The smell wafted closer and closer to me, as did another stray thought from Jean.

_'This will be easy. No worries. I'll just walk right up to him and tell him what I want. If his thoughts really are betraying him, then I know he won't resist.'_

She was impatient, nervous, and a little scared, still shoving food about in front of her. But most of all, she was very excited, charged with energy. For a second my secret smile wanted to return, but it was stopped dead by a bout of puzzlement. Why would Jean be nervous to tell me what she wants? She's always been very open with me, and I with her. And where was her fear coming from? I was about to ask her telepathically when I intercepted a third stray thought.

_'He's gruff, but he won't refuse me. Even considering this sudden friendship with Scott, he won't. He's wanted me too long to refuse; no matter what thoughts he entertains about Rogue. She's just a child. He wants me and I want him. And I won't refuse what I want any longer.'_

I went blank. Completely, utterly blank, like a harvested wheat field in late autumn, gray and lonely, filled with the echoes of black, cawing crows. With numb hands I took the bowl of cobbler Bobby passed me. For a moment I just sat there, bowl in hand, eyes closed, when I felt something wet fall from beneath my glasses. My eyes opened. Three tears had fallen into the cobbler, making the midnight blue berries glisten in the harsh light. I don't see colors anymore, and haven't for a very long time. Still, the dark cobbler color came rushing back to my mind unbidden. I could picture it and couldn't forget it. I took my spoon and heaped a small amount of the dessert onto my plate. Gingerly, I set the bowl before me and retrieved my spoon. Tears still shone bright and lucid on my food. I stuck a teary bite in my mouth, but instead of tasting the ripe sweetness of summer berries, all I tasted was ashes. Bile rose in my throat but I forced myself to swallow the vile mixture. I saw Logan's hands pick up the bowl and looked into his face. He smiled softly at me as he spooned dessert onto his plate and took a bite. He was eating my tear, my grief, my pain. I heard no more stray thoughts from Jean. And the glitter of my ruby-quartz had faded into dullness again.

---

Once dinner had ended I went down to the locked fridge. I dredged up the key from my pocket and opened the heavy door. On the first shelf was the pink cake box. I ignored that, instead seeing the bottom shelf where I had placed not one but three bottles of Vampire. I grabbed them and hauled them up to our room, our _empty_ room, not caring who saw me.

I stood before our bedroom door, feeling hope lance through my nerves like lightning. I hoped that Jean had given up on Logan in that instant. I hoped she had returned to this room, was behind this door, wondering where _I _was. We could share the wine and wash away my fears forever.

I understood, when I opened the door and looked around. I understood everything.

I drank all three bottles of wine by myself that night. My mother had always said that trouble comes in sets of three. I'm inclined to agree with her. Dinner had ended around eight thirty and I had seen neither head nor tail of Jean since then. I could hardly focus on the digital alarm clock, the red numbers fuzzing over. Eleven thirty. And I was totally, completely drunk. There was more booze in the fridge, so I decided to stumble into the garage for more. I navigated the halls as quietly as I could, almost breaking my neck traversing down the long staircase. When I fumbled into the garage a thought came to me slowly, like a soft, downy wish ball floating towards me on the wind. Just because I hadn't seen Jean all night didn't mean she was with Logan. Maybe she'd had a breakthrough on one of her lab experiments. Maybe she was sitting in the family room watching Saturday Night Live with the older students. Maybe...oh, the possibilities were so endless it seemed impossible that she could have been with Logan at all. Like a drowning swimmer plunging for a life ring in stormy waters I reached out for Jean's mind.

_--I have to get back to the room. Scott doesn't have to know anything about this. _

_--This was wrong, Jean. No matter how much we wanted it. You..._we_ owe him our honesty._

_--No! It would kill him! And now matter how _guilty_ you feel right no, I won't let that ruin my marriage. Scott and I love each other._

_--You sure do have a funny way of showing it, ya know. Sleeping around on him and all._

_--SHUT UP! You're just as bad as I am. You're just as much at fault as I am. If this gets out, we'll both be ruined!_

_--But you don't get it, Jean. We've already ruined everything._

I was the empty field again. But an abyss was forming, creating thick dark cracks in the earth. They spread like a disease the color of midnight blueberries. There was nowhere to run as the inky blue darkness swallowed me whole.

A young empath at the school says we are not our emotions. We cannot define ourselves by our tears, our grief, our pain or we lose sense of who we really are. Falling into shadows, I lost myself. I was silent yet filled to the top with a bitter sort of desperation as I fumbled for the garage door opener. The house, the _family_, was threatening to suffocate me. I had to get out. I slammed my palm on the opener with a painful smack against the cold, concrete wall. With soft, unnoticeable sounds the door opened. My feet made move to run from what I couldn't face, when they tangled together on something, toppling me to the floor, almost knocking my glasses askew. My body ached with the sudden fear lacing through me and the unexpected impact as I turned to see what had caused my untimely descent. My boots. My muddy, crusty, old, ruined boots. I let out a choked sob at the sight of them, still here, still the same, a bastion of normalcy in this emotional maelstrom. Despite the ache, I took off my shiny black penny loafers (a gift from Jean, no less) and pulled on my boots. They fit wonderfully in all the places my loafers didn't. Standing up, I ran out into the night, its darkness combining with the ashes of my existence.

I don't know how long I ran for. When I finally stopped, I was in the middle of some wooded area so thick that the stars couldn't shine through. I'd never been really lost before because of my innate sense of direction. But the trees all looked the same, cast the same eerie glares at my drunk form, my heart pounding as I spun in lurching circles. I tried to calm myself down but I couldn't focus my eyes behind my ruby-quartz, blurring everything into a great bloody mess. I couldn't control my tears, my grief, my pain and I ran in the first direction I could make my boot-clad feet run in. Branches whipped me, a million slaps screaming of infidelity, betrayal. The one I loved had been the one to break me. Not Toad, Sabretooth, Mystique, Magneto or Stryker could beat me. No, my wife and my friend. They brought this darkness. Up ahead, I saw the thinning trees and hoped I had found a clearing of some sort. Maybe I was still on the mansion's grounds. Perhaps those were the lights of home gleaming through the trees. My arms held straight before me, I felt like I was reaching for the embrace of my loving family.

I wanted to forgive, in that very moment. If things hadn't happened the way they did, I could have taken Jean back. I would have welcomed Logan as a friend into my arms. I could have forgiven everything, just to have my family back.

I crashed through the remaining branches and saw the lights of the mansion for a split second, felt the spongy, freshly watered grass beneath my feet. In the next moment, I registered where I _really_ was. There was no grass, only the cruel black road beneath my boots. On either side of the deserted back road fir trees towered in the distance, silent monoliths, monuments to my blueberry darkness. Suddenly, I felt light blinding the right side of my face even through my glasses. I turned and saw two lights converging into one, a merciless dawn, right before it ended. Before everything ended for me forever.

But time slows down right before you die. In that light, I reached out with my mind for anything I could grasp. Strange telepathy overcame me, not Jean's, but my own particular blend, granted to me in my last few seconds of life. I reached out and felt the presence of the two mutants behind the dawning headlights. Jean and Logan. For one second we were all connected, driven together by the force of my dying telepathy. But it was broken when I felt a thousand pounds of metal moving at seventy miles an hour crash into my body. My ribs caved in as I flipped over the front of the car. My legs were shattered and my right side was mutilated as I hit the ground again. But that's all a rather blurry memory. I was already halfway in this silent place because my neck had snapped on impact. But, even with all this damage, my boots still stayed on my feet. They never left me. Even when everything else had ended for me forever.

So that's why. Why I only think about my boots now. Not my family. Not blueberry cobbler. Not the converging lights of dawn. Not death. Just my boots. I love them because they never betrayed me. When I lost my faith in everything, transformed into nothing but a ball of tears and grief and pain, I tripped over my boots. I died, but they were there with me. Always with me.

_---_

_A/N: Another challenge from the Challenge in a Can website. It was: Scott Summers. Dead. Boots. Try it for yourself._


End file.
